Loves Me Not
by beforethequeen
Summary: Stan/Kenny, Stan/Wendy. It seems like a simple choice, one or the other, but to Stan, it is anything but simple.


It should not be so complicated, but it feels like hell. There are only two choices, you weigh the pros and cons for both carefully, but they seem to equal out. In plain, easy English, one is good, the other is bad, and you cannot bring yourself to believe that anything is that simple.

Girlfriend since eight and dear friend since five. It is enough to make you ill.

School becomes unbearable. He is not far away at the bus stop, and her locker is only two feet from yours. For eight periods of the day, you are stuck with either one, or the other, or both, or that one occasion where you are all alone in Spanish 4, speaking a language neither of them can understand.

There are people between you when you sit at the lunch table, and you don't have to even look at him, but she is often across from you, sometimes a few seats away chatting with friends and hoping you will realize that she will not always be there. But she is.

One day, he catches your eyes as he stands to throw out his lunch, and you feel your stomach drop. He is frowning like he knows what you're thinking. Two days before, he caught your eye as your Contemporary Literature teacher mentioned you would be working in pairs. Instead you were stuck with a kid you've never really seen before.

Your best friend sighs when you pull him into the bathroom to avoid those eyes. "You can't hide forever. It's one choice."

It's more than that. You've complicated everything.

In the few times you have overcome your shyness, the way she was wrapped around you made you as queasy as you felt when you were younger and she smiled at you. In the one time you swallowed all your fear, there were chapped lips around you and a firm hand rubbing your hip, and it was nothing like any experience you have had with her. He left you breathless. You weren't afraid.

When you can forget about the mess that has resulted, when you told her you needed time and he said he would be waiting, you forget about all that fear. Late at night, with the radio playing softly while you drift slowly to sleep, you can feel him like he were there. Once he climbed through your window and smoked on the sill while you spoke about death, and you pretend he will do it again, sit on your bed with that lingering scent of nicotine that surrounds him like a second skin. It is possible that someday he will appear like that again, but most nights you wait for it in peaceful music until you fall asleep. The next morning is always cold and you bundle up tight to meet him and your friends at the bus stop.

She glares at you at the lockers, and you act as though you do not notice. Her friends' eyes are glued on you as well, no words are on their lips, but when they look at each other, they are communicating silently and freely. You grab your Spanish 4 book and walk briskly away, trying to pretend as though you have no care in the world, but the lie must be obvious. She makes you so angry. She watches every move you make.

He waits for you after Spanish 4 sometimes. Very rarely does he approach you, but he waits at his locker, which is not far away, and simply stares at the open door, waiting for the sure moment when you pass through it. You never skip class anymore. He has figured this out. He appears there more often and eyes always remind you of the smirk in them when he was on his knees in front of you in the dirty hole he calls his bedroom. He makes you dizzy. He makes you calm.

"What are you even thinking?"

Your best friend only gets silence as an answer. A very accurate response. You cover your eyes and lean on his shoulder. He puts down his video game controller and slouches back into the couch, letting you move closer. You gratefully accept his warmth. Your best friend never fails you. Some semblance of calmness floats over you, and he hands you his control instead. He knows you. You lean against him and pick up his game, playing quietly until you are relaxed once more.

"I think I know which decision would be best for you, which decision would be best for them, and which is least likely to end in a disaster, but I don't really know anything, and I don't know how you're feeling. I can't tell you what to think."

He does the best he can, your super best friend.

You go through the motions at school. She glares or ignores, he stares or goes about his own business. You never see him with anyone else anymore. Either he is struggling with his game or he truly is invested in you. She brushes your shoulder in the hall, like you used to do to her when you were dating. You feel ill, your stomach jumping.

"Play a game. You know, like with the flower petals. She loves you, you love her not, he loves you, you love him not."

You count everything, from flowers to floor tiles, and all you've found is that all it is, is a simple calculation. Spanish 4 helps you escape. You don't count anything in Spanish 4 but uno, dos, tres.

"She loves you."

In History, she gives you space. She smiles at you shyly when the teacher accidentally hands her your test instead of hers and she benevolently passes it back to you. It reminds you of being young again. It reminds you of how she did everything for you, and how her blaring confidence would dim at the sight of you.

"You love her not."

At lunch, your friends are crowded by the sudden influx of her own. Seven girls suddenly line the other side of the table, crammed together and chatting as your friends try to ignore them. They all know why they are there. The occasional girl, usually one on the end who cannot get in on the conversation as easily, stares at you for a moment too long.

"He loves you."

The bell at the end of Spanish 4 lets you back into reality, and he is not there to watch you, but you bump into a frantic freshman, and he is there to steady you as soon as you go flying backwards. He appears as surprised as you are at the predicament you have found yourselves in. His eyes are huge and grey. You blink and tear away. You stared for a moment too long.

"You love him not."

He looks at you. His eyes are always locked on yours. You're not sure why this is not as annoying as it should be, but when he is not there after Spanish 4 one day after a solid week of his appearances, you are only disappointed.

Do you love him not?

He kissed you when he climbed off his knees that day.

Do you love him?

Her eyes are on you when you ask him if he wants to study for Earth Science with you. He smiles and you smile too.

It's complicated.


End file.
